Foam, Fire, Fear and Fate
by a tattered rose
Summary: "He'd been out of Laurel's arms and to the door as soon as Felicity turned the corner. It would have been so easy to catch up but he had nothing to say. Nothing to say to Laurel either as she stalked past him, all glass and leaving him alone." Sometimes, it becomes too much.


He'd been out of Laurel's arms and to the door as soon as Felicity turned the corner. It would have been so easy to catch up but he had nothing to say. Nothing to say to Laurel either as she stalked past him, all glass and leaving him alone.

That night Shado's scream had become a wail, a shriek, her body flying apart into wind through his window. No caring mother this time, his own racing heart and violent shudders throwing him back onto the cold floor. It had been months since he'd woken anywhere but his bed. He'd thought he was done with that – the nightmares still came, too often, but this time he couldn't shake the fear, the helplessness, the cold, even though he wrapped himself in blankets and waited 'til dawn.

* * *

It made a thunk and smelled like coffee.

"Is this your way of saying the coffee machine is fixed?"

Eyes studiously on her screen, willing down the blush with a_ three... two... one._

"No," Oliver's bulk loomed. "This is my way of saying we now make cappuccinos."

"Ooh!" Excitement pushed the usual bypass through her internal filter, hops of pretending invisibility gone as she examined the surprisingly utilitarian mug brimming with foam. "I love foam. It tickles my nose-" - and _three... two... one._ Because so many things she said to her boss, her partner, her _friend_ shouted 'dirty' by the time they reached her ears.

He chuckled, low, a non-response of disapproval or skepticism or an awkwardness that didn't fit with either of his personas; day or night.

The bubbles were already tickling, lapping under her breath when she caught him staring. She blushed and blamed the steam.

"Well," she tried to cover the moment, "thank you."

He didn't twitch. "It's also my way of apologizing. It's Laurel, she-"

"-you have history." Too quick. "It's great, really, you deserve to be – I mean, what do I care, people date, it's what they-" A scalding stopped her tongue. Isabel she didn't get but Laurel – there'd never been any secret what he felt for _her_.

She probed the pain with her teeth, and when she looked for him again he was gone.

* * *

Glass meant wealth, a display of privacy and security carved from stuff less crude than plaster and brick. It also sliced glare across an expression, and left Felicity ever in his line of sight while his own voice echoed back to his ears. Divided the air they breathed and left him feeling alone and on display as he sat at his desk performing his role as heir to the throne.

He craved his lair, single open space hiding no secrets with walls built to scale.

Laurel. Locked in her own glass cage ever since he returned, every breeze through an opened door leading to another door, closed and locked like a house of mirrors. He'd never liked mirrors, even less now. They revealed every flaw, every scar, the nothingness gazing back from his own eyes.

The same nothingness reflected in Laurel's eyes, hollow and flat where he wanted to find a home.

The city was his home, now. His to protect.

He was hanging from a rafter when Felicity entered, and there was nowhere to hid, this space was as much hers and the rap of a drop of sweat hitting the concrete floor was an unnecessary clue.

"We got a hit on Rasputin. Dig's on his way."

Her voice was level, blank, and he let go, landing by her chair.

"Another death?"

"Just hospitalized. For now."

They were both reaching to boot up the system, so close he saw himself ghosted and tiny in her iris when she turned her head.

He kissed her.

* * *

She did a million things in her head in the split second before she pushed him away. Screamed in surprise, cheered, pulled him closer, shifted her chin across his stubble. Then "we can't do this!" and bit her raw tongue because his body, strong enough to beat an assassin, solid enough to hold a city together, slipped back as if she had the power. "Oliver-"

"I'm going to go talk to Lance, see what the police know."

Her brain had fired a million thoughts before it got to "no." The case, their deadlines, the code her fingers were itching to upload in the city network.

A million thoughts after he was gone, a million questions, a billion regrets.

She'd never been great with self-esteem. Confidence she'd learned, toting mastered textbooks down the Infinite hallways.* But she'd always been odd, always clicked with certain people and never quite fit with others but Oliver... She knew her value but not her worth. He knew so much more, had done so much, was capable of so much the bridges between them yawned. She was just a small town girl with a crush and a world-class talent with tech. Nothing on par with everyone else who belonged in his life.

Rasputin was down, cuffed to a hospital bed in the prison infirmary. _They_ had put him there. And in the quiet aftermath, listlessly fingering a controller alone in her apartment, the break in his voice played over and over and she drew her hoodie low over her eyes and knew, in a breath-catching wave, that whatever they were, she was his friend.

Felicity Smoak was friends with Oliver Queen.

The bridges didn't seem so long.

* * *

He answered the knock at his bedroom door because it was expected. Oliver Queen wouldn't hide under his covers.

"Felicity."

"I traced your phone, I knew you were here." A familiar flick of her finger knocked her glasses higher up her nose. "Raisa brought me up, she said it was okay but-" she took a half-step back, "if it's a bad time I-"

For the second time that day his body moved without thought, in control just far enough to hold her softly, make it easy for her to break away. Waiting for it, even as she pressed closer, plastic line of her glasses against his shoulder the one hard geometric note against the soft fitted warmth of her body. And then he was clinging to her, mouth pressed against the wool of her coat and with eyes tightly shut it all went away, for a minute, the whole world, the whole of history reduced to the two of them, and for the first time he could remember, he felt safe.

* * *

She'd always felt safe by his side, in his arms, even when it meant swinging a hundred feet over instant death. His presence was comforting, his muscles as hard and interesting as they looked. He'd never felt soft against her, like this, melting under her limbs, and it took her a moment to notice that it wasn't her head spinning or her body shaking like she was about to fall apart.

"You're freezing." Her fingers crept past his collar to brush the icy flesh of his neck. "Doesn't this place have central he- it's 20 degrees out, why's your window open?"

His shrug pushed against her, warmth vacating the hall as if the stately, beautiful room she glimpsed past his bicep was part of the outdoors.

"Um..." There might be a right thing to say, but her exposed ear was starting to burn. "Could you say something? This is kinda weird."

He jerked against her again, but when he pulled back the stoney expression was gone, replaced with the familiar glow of small smile and concerned eyes. "I'm sorry. There's a fire in the Billiards Room, if you..."

It had been hard enough to drive up to the mansion, huge and silent and imposing. If not for the memory of bloodstains on her back seat she might have completed the circular drive and gone straight back to the city.

"Can we just shut the window?"

Oliver trailer her around the room with a bemused expression as she lowered the pane and drew the curtains, then noticed the fireplace, bigger than her closet, and constructed the beginnings of a blaze.

"Where'd you learn how to that?"

"It's just a matter of controlling the air channels and calculating the best orientations to bounce heat the right way – usually people do the same thing inside that they would if they were out camping, but all that does is push a lot of it..."

Tipping a stick a little farther back, a leap of reflected flame danced beneath deadpan eyes.

"Science. Also I was a Girl Scout until High School."

It didn't feel unfriendly, but she was hoping for a smile.

* * *

He rarely used his fireplace, there were many in the house, all kept stocked and in pristine condition even if they were mostly ornamental. Watching Felicity work brought back memories of rubbing sticks and the threat of wolves. Slade laughing at how he wasn't fit to live. The memory was cold, but that had been far from his worst night on the Island. A little cold, fear, and frustration was nothing when he was fed, whole, and not alone.

Felicity was focused on her task, like when her fingers rapped on her keyboard, like a character in a movie as she bested international-grade security as quickly and easily as he could draw a bow.

He wanted to tell her about his first fire. His clumsy efforts and how he didn't know the science but could read the pattern of kindling and wood and feel the flow of the flames, saw and appreciated the beauty she'd constructed. The words stopped low in his throat, a threat to the peace she'd brought with her. He cleared them with a cough.

"Do you mind if we sit here for a while? Watch the fire? Together?"

Her smile was brighter than the sparks. "Have you got any marshmallows?"

* * *

Food, her parents had taught her, was a balm. To eat together is to set down all weapons, to break bread together – or in this case concoct a delicious array of sticky toasted goodness from the dizzying array of supplies sent up from the kitchen – a symbol of friendship and love.

Oliver thawed by the flames. By the time she was stuffed, forcing him to sample each new (and more creative) effort he was more relaxed that she'd ever seen him. Smiling wider, shoulders casually slumped, movements broader. The room was warm, almost hot, but so cozy she didn't want to move a log to the front to drop it even a degree.

Only they couldn't sit forever on the floor.

"Oliver?"

"Hmm?"

_About when you kissed me..._

"Pass the coconut."

_We don't have to talk about it, not that you _want_ to talk about it..._

"And a banana."

_Not that there's anything to talk about..._

"And you know you still owe me a bottle of wine from your fake scavenger hunt, right?"

_I just think I should tell you..._

"It's not that I didn't want to kiss you."

_Though I personally think I deserve a whole case of wine for al-_

… _Three... Two... One._

"I said that out loud, didn't I."

A marshmallow blackened and shrivelled at the end of a fork.

"Yeah." His voice was gentle. "I need to apologize for that, I shouldn't-"

"-You can. I mean, if you wanted to. Again. Now. If... I haven't just made it seriously weird. God, I meant-:

"-I mean I shouldn't have done it then. Not like that."

A log rolled over, unnoticed.

* * *

If she'd been drinking he'd have stopped her. Too often, this room, other rooms had played out patterns he wanted to break. Felicity wasn't part of any pattern.

Her voice was small. "So do you still want to?"

"Yes." _More than anything_ finished Oliver Queen. But he wasn't Oliver Queen anymore. He didn't know who he was, if he was me, or less. Only that he didn't want to be alone, didn't want to lie.

She leaned closer.

"Felicity." He rested a hand on her arm, keeping her in place, thumb running over her wrist. "For the last six years- I don't know who I am. But you're the _only_ person who makes me feel like I belong here, and not back on The Island."

Her hand splayed over his chest, spanning a dozen scars including the one she she watched heal.

"I can't risk losing that, until I figure it out. I need you. And I want you, but it's more than that."

The rasp in his voice parodied The Hood, shivers now nothing to do with temperature.

* * *

She left her hand in place, over his heart, and pondered how in her whole life she'd never felt less alone.

"Let's see what you got building this fire back up, Mr. Wilderness Man," and she mimicked a touch he'd given her before, cupping the side of his face.

The next morning a mug materialized on her desk while she was running an errand to IT. Perfect rise of foam sealed with the image of two hearts pierced by one arrow.

Almost too pretty to drink.

Almost.

Greeting him with a grin, she drank it in his office.

* * *

_*MIT's main corridor is called the Infinite Corridor._


End file.
